


Music and Lyrics

by PanBoleyn



Series: Three Is More Than Just Company [6]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-29
Updated: 2010-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 10:56:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanBoleyn/pseuds/PanBoleyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have to drive from San Francisco to Denver. Each of them takes turns driving, which also means radio control. Oh, and Eames likes stealing Arthur's Kindle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music and Lyrics

**Author's Note:**

> Response to this Kink Meme prompt: http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/12989.html?thread=28658109#t28658109. Also, if anyone recognizes Eames' taxi driver comment, yes, it's from NCIS.

Heads Carolina, tails California  
Somewhere greener, somewhere warmer  
Up in the mountains  
Down by the ocean  
Where, it don't matter  
Long as we're goin'  
Somewhere together  
I've got a quarter  
Heads Carolina, tails California – Heads Carolina, Tails California by Jo Dee Messina

It's 6:30 in the morning, and despite coffee, Ariadne's the only one of the three awake enough to drive. It's justifiable – both the boys were out doing various nefarious things as prep for the job they're heading out on now. They still try to avoid her knowing about certain aspects of what they do; it's a protectiveness that she finds alternately sweet and irritating.

They have a job in Denver, Colorado and even though it would be easier to fly, Arthur's vetoed it. She's not sure how he knows, but apparently they've been flagged after a job in St. Louis. She doesn't remember any of them messing up enough to cause that, but it was right after Miami and they were all a bit shaky still. So it's not really a surprise, and they can drive it anyway. Eames is apparently working on clearing it up – he knows someone who knows someone who knows a guy in the TSA, or something like that.

Arthur says he can't sleep in cars, so he takes the front passenger seat and pulls his Kindle from his bag. He loves that thing, and since Ariadne's devoted to her iPod she can't really call him on it. Eames rolls his eyes and sprawls in the backseat, muttering about how he's going to catch up on his sleep even if it turns out that Ariadne drives like an “Eastern European taxi driver.” She's not sure what that refers to and doesn't ask. All she asks is if they mind her playing the radio quietly. Arthur's already engrossed in whatever it is that he's reading, so he just waves his hand at her, and Eames mumbles an assent, half-asleep again. She grins at them both – though they don't see it – and goes through the radio channels until she finds the local country station.

Ariadne's taste in music is best described as eclectic. When she's cleaning, she likes to listen to cheery pop music, the same kind they played at her high school dances. When she's learning self-defense with Arthur or Eames – who she's working with depends on what she's learning at the time – she always talks them into playing rock music. If she's angry she'll play classical to calm down. But when she's traveling, she likes country. No particular reason, she just does.

They drive for a few hours, the car silent except for the quiet melodies flowing from the speakers. When Jo Dee Messina's Heads Carolina, Tails California comes on, though, Ariadne can't help but hum along. She's always loved this song, and it's appropriate for a road trip. She doesn't sing because she can't without seriously damaging people's sensibilities, but humming is safe.

Arthur slants her a look. “I take it you like this song?” he asks. She nods, and is about to ask him what he's reading when another voice chimes in.

“What the bloody hell is that song?” A glance at the rearview mirror shows Eames with one eye cracked open, brow creased.

“It's country,” Ariadne says. “You've never heard it?”

“I'm English, love.”

“Not the best excuse, Eames,” Arthur points out. “Country's gone international now.”

“Well, I don't pay much attention to that,” the forger says, sitting up and throwing a mock-glare Arthur's way. The point man just smirks and returns his attention to his Kindle. Not for long, though, because Eames leans forward and plucks it from Arthur's hands.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“American Gods? Well, Arthur, I never knew Neil Gaiman was the sort to draw your interest,” Eames says, grinning. “Hmm. Now how do I see what other books you have on here?”

“Eames, I really don't want you frying my Kindle the way you do computers.”

“I can handle an iPod, this thing's just an iPod for books.”

“Just hand it over, will you?”

“What do I get for it?”

Ariadne laughs, unable to hold it in any longer. “How old are you two, four?” She gets two injured looks in return that are so nearly identical she has to focus all her attention on the road once more. It's that or give in to a fit of the giggles that would end up running them into a ditch.

~ ~ ~

I'm a wanderer on life's highway  
I'm not one of that great legion with their traveling care  
And though I haven't much religion  
Here's my only prayer  
Give me the road the wide winding highway  
Just let me know the done beaten byways  
And I'll travel along singing a vagabond song – Singing A Vagabond Song by Dean Martin

It's a bit annoying for Eames when he loses the coin toss after they get lunch at a rest stop, meaning he has to drive next. Of course, Arthur insisted on flipping it himself, so either he cheated or he expected Eames to. The Brit knows he was not going to cheat and he's trying to decide if he's insulted or not. He has to get revenge somehow, of course, and he does so by reaching over when Arthur gets back into the front passenger seat and ruffling the hair that the other man has gelled back the same way he always does.

“We're just traveling today darling, no need for that.” He gets a glare from Arthur in return, and a chuckle from Ariadne.

“I swear, you two really are little kids.”

“Oh, is that so?” Eames says, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror. She nods, an impish grin on her face. He studies her consideringly for a moment, then says, “You won't think so later, I'm sure of that.”

“Oh, that's original,” Arthur mutters, not even looking up from his gadget. But he's grinning, and somehow Eames doubts that has to do with – a guy named Shadow on a carousel? What? Whatever that's about, he doesn't think that's why the point man is trying not to laugh. Ariadne's not laughing, instead she's looking at them both with that wicked glint in her eye that means she's had exactly the sort of idea that turns into such fun for them all.

“You'll just have to prove it to me then,” she says, casual as she takes out her Blackberry, probably to surf the Internet. Eames smirks at her before starting the car up and beginning to fiddle with the radio. The country isn't bad, but it's not really his first choice. Actually, American radio in general is not his first choice, but there's some things he likes. If he can find the right station.

“You like oldies?” Ariadne says in surprise when Eames finds a station he likes and Dean Martin sings from the speakers.

“It's one of the better genres your country has to offer, yes,” Eames says, only half-joking.

“That's just insulting,” Ariadne declares. “There's nothing wrong with American music – well, maybe some of the rap music that the high schoolers like these days, but most of it's not bad.”

Eames just shrugs, tapping his finger absently on the steering wheel in time to the music. Like Ariadne, he knows he can't sing all that well, and while sometimes that alone would be a good reason for him to start singing, he decides against it this time. They've still got a bloody long way to go, after all, and it'll be better if their moods aren't too bad.

Ariadne is still quizzing him about the various types of music in the States, and once she gives up on that she moves to specific artists. “What about Bon Jovi, or the Goo Goo Dolls? Seriously, you have to like something more recent than Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra. Where did you even start listening to them anyway?”

“First job I took in the States, the extractor played him all the time. Even used one of his songs for the kick – it's the only one I can't listen to,” Eames explains. “And I never said all of your music is bad, I'd rather listen to something else most of the time, that's all.”

“But...”

“Give up, Ari, you're not going to convince him,” Arthur says absently. “We had a chemist on this one job, he spent the entire prep time trying to 'fix' Eames' taste in music. It didn't end well.”

“How badly is not well?”

“All of his music files were on his computer,” Arthur explains. Ariadne nods in understanding.

“Oh. Yeah, that would do it.”

Eames rolls his eyes. “I didn't appreciate his 'immersion therapy' tactics,” he says loftily.

“You didn't mind mine, though,” Arthur points out in a softly amused voice, reminding Eames of just how Arthur had convinced him to listen to some of the more... unpleasant things that American music had to offer. He was relatively certain they'd both hated it, but it had been a bit of a joke between them on that particular job. And, he recalled, well worth it. Certain types of bribery really will get you everywhere.

“OK, now this I need to know more about,” Ariadne decides. Eames catches glimpses of her watching them in the rearview and he imagines she must be bored. Reception's probably shit out here and there's nothing but the long road snaking ahead to look at through the window. Ah well, he's sure he – and Arthur, sometimes – can manage to be more entertaining than a website.

“We could always just show you later,” Arthur points out, surprising both of the other two.

“You beat me to the punch there,” Eames muses, a smirk on his face. Long drives always lead to a lot of pent-up energy, so maybe this damn road trip isn't all bad after all.

~ ~ ~

We'll pack up all our junk and drive so far away  
Devote ourselves to projects that sell  
We'll open up a restaurant in Santa Fe  
Forget this cold bohemian hell...  
Do you know the way to Santa Fe? – Santa Fe, RENT

There's six hours left to their eighteen-hour trip when they stop for gas. Since Arthur will be taking over the drive from here, he gets the gas and Eames switches seats. As he pays the attendant and gets back inside, Arthur remembers just how much he hates driving for hours on end. At least he's the last one to drive today, which is something. Maybe. But honestly, if it was like this all the time, he'd be considering a change of career.

It's not all bad, though, not with Eames and Ari in the car. The banter is easy between them again, the lingering tensions from his flight to Miami finally disappearing. It's nice to be back to that, in fact it's even better, because he's less cautious. Even if Eames keeps stealing his Kindle. Which he's done again, Arthur notes.

“Planning to keep yourself busy with that? I don't think we have the same taste in reading material.”

Ariadne leans forward, sticking her head between the seats. With a quick movement, she snatches the Kindle from Eames' lap, shocking both men. She smirks. “Well, you weren't holding it, I saw my chance,” she tells Eames cheekily. “Since you two keep fighting over this, I'm confiscating it.” There's an evil glint in her eyes that tells Arthur he's going to have more books on there by the time he gets it back, none of which would be his choice, but at least he doesn't need to worry about Ariadne accidentally frying it.

Shaking his head, he pulls out the CD he brought – he always hates searching radio stations – and slides it into the player, starting up the car before putting the setting to shuffle. Neither of his lovers recognize the first song – not that he'd expect them to, it's not from a well-known show – but when the second one starts playing, Ariadne gasps.

“Arthur, is that Santa Fe from RENT?” He had been, actually, not even realizing it, but when she says something he stops.

“Are you singing along?” Eames says at the same time, just as surprised. Arthur rolls his eyes, not looking at either of them since he needs to keep his focus on the road.

“I told you I was into musical theater as a teenager. RENT came out when I was sixteen. What do you expect?”

“Not that you used to be a RENThead,” Ariadne says gleefully. “Did you camp outside the theater with the rest of them?”

“No,” Arthur says, though it's a flat-out lie. He'd been in a pretty good home that year, which meant he'd actually been able to save money from the grocery store job he'd had at the time. He took the Amtrak to New York to see RENT twice, and would have gone even more if he could have.

“Yes, you did,” Eames says, his eyes on Arthur's face.

“And if I did?”

“Nothing, Arthur,” Ariadne says with a shake of her head. “It's just an interesting image. You as basically a musical groupie. It's cute.”

“And funny as hell,” Eames says, but his voice is more fond than mocking. Still, Arthur pretends not to see that.

“You two keep it up, and I'll leave you in some crappy motel five miles outside of Denver,” he deadpans.

“You wouldn't dare!” Ariadne says, folding her arms.

“Oh?” Arthur raises an eyebrow at her in the rearview mirror. “What makes you so sure?”

“Two of us and one of you, darling, I'm sure we can tie you down and keep you from making an escape.” Eames pauses, his expression thoughtful. “You know, that might actually not – ”

“Don't even think about it, Mr. Eames.”

They go back and forth like that for the rest of the trip, songs from various Broadway shows playing quietly in the background, and the last six hours pass a lot more quickly than they might have expected.


End file.
